


Making an Effort

by InsertImaginativeNameHere



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Date, Junkrat is a Mess, M/M, Unashamedly Fluffy, Wingman Roadhog, With Tiny Ouch, cute nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 04:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: Dates aren't really much of a Junker thing, so when Junkrat has one looming in the near future, he has to turn to help from Roadhog and hope for the best.





	Making an Effort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xDomino009x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDomino009x/gifts).



> I promise I'd get this written and here it is. Silly boombox fic. Bc pure ship and my two absolute fave characters.  
> Goodtimes

He was smart, and he knew it. He was a right old genius at so many things. He could fashion a homemade bomb where most other people only saw random bottles, chemicals with names too long to pronounce. Given the right parts, or any random crap at all, odds were he could knock together something beautifully destructive, beautifully chaotic, just beautiful. And the right parts could include random scraps of metal, duct tape, and elastic bands. He was the brains of the outfit, he could think them out of near enough any situation. Sure, he got them into trouble but didn’t he get them out again? Didn’t he? Some of the time, anyway. Point was, he had a good head on his shoulders, occasional lapses aside. He was no thicko. No matter what Hog said when pissed off.

Problem was, he’d kind of grown up in a lawless wasteland and had no education other than what he’d taught himself. Outside, in the actual real world, it turned out there was so much shit he _didn’t_ know. He was smart, he reminded himself, a proper innovative fuck. That didn’t stop him feeling like a tit whenever he cocked up, no indeedy, it almost made things worse. When that German (or whatever, she _sounded_ German) doctor caught him hoarding food and told him he could eat what he wanted when he wanted and probably needed a special diet to address his malnourishment and blah and blah and blah. And sure, she was _probably_ right, he wasn’t fresh out the outback or anything but you _had_ to be careful. He’d fill up on junk food day to day (they called it junk food, he reasoned, it was practically _intended_ for him), but he’d keep back actual rations. For when pickings weren’t so rich.

Or the time they’d offered him a new prosthetic leg and he’d rejected their help without thinking. It had taken forever to learn his balance on his pegleg to begin with, but there was also the fact he was a Junker to the bone. You didn’t just accept someone else’s scrap. There’d be payment later. It’d be a sign of weakness. They’d all thought he was just a stubborn, ungrateful arsehole (truth right there) until Roadhog had explained. Roadie was good at smoothing over these misunderstandings when he wanted to be, surprisingly so. He knew this world, the world of before, outside. He knew how things worked and he helped out when Junkrat got himself in a tizz.

Junkrat hoped he could rely on his help again. He hadn’t expected this situation and he didn’t know what to do. It was totally unforeseen. That someone as amazing and generally all-around cool as Lúcio would show an interest back. He’d kind of been getting used to a string of rejections and snorts of disgust since he’d split ways with the rest of the Junkers. And like, he knew for a fact there were far worse out there, he was doing pretty well for himself and there was no call to be rude just because he smelt of gunpowder constantly. Back home, that was an appealing feature! So yeah, he hadn’t expected to ever land himself a date. He really didn’t know what these types did and the last thing he wanted was to ruin everything. Junkers didn’t really do relationships in the same way. Junkrat could have blagged it if he had a frame of reference, as he blagged everything, but he didn’t.

“Hey, Hoggo,” he began. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Doesn’t matter. You will anyway,” Roadhog grunted.

“True, true,” he swallowed nervously. “Anyway, y’know how people round here do like...all this weird shit, right?”

“Are you confused about the hand-dryers again, ‘rat?”

“I don’t get it!” Junkrat exclaimed. “Why do they have these hot air machines just for hands when ya can just wipe ‘em on yer shorts. An’ why’s it frowned upon to dry other body parts?”

“Other people have a grasp on hygiene, ‘rat. Novel concept, I know.”

“You’re kiddin’ me.” Junkrat snickered then changed track. “Nah, bloody mystifyin’ though that is. It’s...well, it’s kinda about somethin’ else.” Roadhog stared at him, unblinking through the mask. Might have unnerved some people. Not Junkrat though. “How do- how do, like, _dates_ work? I know they’re a thing but like...what?”

A low, gruff chuckle from under the mask. Roadhog was laughing at him. Junkrat felt a rush of spiteful anger and then a big hand ruffled his hair, defusing his irritation before he could even vent it.

“Oi!” he snapped, kind of half-heartedly at this point. “Leave off!”

“Don’t ever change, ‘rat. You’re a total pain in my arse, don’t get me wrong, but don’t ever change. Why’re you asking?” Junkrat said nothing but he could feel himself going red. “That DJ invite you out somewhere nice?”

Junkrat shook his head. “I pitched it, but I was mostly joking. Didn’t think he’d ever take me seriously. He asked me to this music thing later. We’re meeting at this cafe. What does any of that even mean, Roadie?”

“It means he asked you on a date.”

“I know that!” Junkrat retorted. “But like, what does _that_ mean? Help me out, mate. I dunno what to do.” Roadhog gave another short laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You getting all flustered over a boy. ‘s sweet.”

“I ain’t sweet!” Junkrat tried to snarl, folding his arms stubbornly.

“I think your new boyfriend would disagree.”

“He’s not my-” Junkrat started. “Oh, stop taking the piss. We’re supposed to be friends. Some mate you are, bullying a bloke for no good reason.”

“Alright, boss. Whatever you say.” Roadhog’s tone was still joking, a rare thing for him. If it were pretty much anyone else, he’d have to twat them one. But it was Roadhog. He could get away with near enough anything.

“Y’gonna help me, Hoggie, or not?”

Roadhog might have been smiling. There was no way of knowing. “Course I am.”

“Great!” Junkrat perked up. “What now?”

“You’re not gonna like it.” Junkrat had a sinking feeling he already knew. “You’re gonna have to wash.”

Oh fuck.

 

-

 

“No.”

“‘rat, c’mon. It doesn’t have to be a shower, I know that ain’t easy with your leg especially. But you’re gonna have to clean yourself up.”

“N-O spells no, Hog. Ain’t happening.”

“I’ll run the water for you, make sure it ain’t too hot or cold. It won’t be too bad.”

“Hoggo, what part of no are you missing?”

“The part where I throw you in the damn bath regardless if you don’t.”

Junkrat sagged. “Aw, c’mon. I already had like, plural baths this year.”

“ _Rat._ ”

“You ain’t makin’ me an’ that’s final.” He stuck his tongue out defiantly. “Who’s in charge around here?”

“ _Junkrat_ ,” Roadhog hissed in exasperation.

He hadn’t been answering the question, but Junkrat decided to take it like that. “Damn right, it is. Please, Hoggo. I’m sure Lúce ain’t expecting me squeaky clean. He asked me out as I was.”

“He’ll get a surprise, then,” Roadhog replied firmly. “Won’t he, _Jamison_? I’ll go run the bath now.”

“Fine,” Junkrat sighed. “Yer heartless, Roadie. Bloody heartless.”

He heard Roadhog laugh again. Falling back into his seat, he regretted everything.

 

-

 

He endured the bath. Endured being the word. He was suffering for every minute of it. Never mind that when he got out, he was sent straight back in to ‘wash properly’ (bullshit) and wash his hair and wash until he felt all weird and shiny without a constant layer of grime. Drying off he reattached his prosthetics and dressed, heading back through where Roadhog was holding something.

“Aw, c’mon. Lúce ain’t gonna mind-”

“Shirt. On,” Roadhog growled.

“Alright, alright,” Junkrat muttered. “Tyrant. Ya wouldn’t think I’m the boss round here, wouldya? ‘cause I am.” He wriggled his way into the t-shirt Hog had handed him, putting his arm through the head hole by mistake and having to readjust. He didn’t appreciate Hog’s amusement one bit.

“Hate you,” he mumbled, managing the shirt this time. “Bloody hate you, Hoggo.”

“Now you know how I feel all the fuckin’ time.”

“Don’t like shirts,” he sulked. “They itch.”

“I know,” Roadhog agreed. “She’ll be right, ‘rat.” Roadhog placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I just...really don’t wanna fuck up, y’know?” Junkrat said eventually.

“I know. You won’t.”

“You don’t know that!” He waved his hands desperately. “I know what a fuckin’ piece of shit I can be. I do _yer_ head in and yer used to me. What happens when Lúce realises what a mistake he’s making? He could get pretty much anyone. An’ I know I’m not…” he trailed off. “Radiation sickness doesn’t exactly do much for a feller’s looks.” He ran a hand through his sparse hair and gave a grim smile. At least he had most of his teeth. More than some could say. “I dunno. There’s just...I still ain’t used to none of this. What if I ain’t good enough? He’s this incredible DJ and what am I? Some crazy junker with half his limbs an’ precisely zero sex appeal to normal people.”

“He asked you,” Roadhog replied. “He saw you, and yeah, you’re annoying, but you can be fun to be around. And don’t go fishing for compliments. We both know you think you’re hot shit.”

“I mean, true. All things considered, I’m pretty fuckin’ great.” He puffed out his skinny chest, moment of doubt passed. Of course he was something. He was _definitely_ a sex god. How else could you explain Lúcio agreeing to even date him? He was clearly filled with innate sexual magnetism no amount of radiation could erase.

“That’s better. Can’t go goin’ on dates if you’re being a miserable git.”

“Hey, Roadie.” Junkrat grinned and present his remaining real hand. “Do me nails, wouldya?”

Roadhog gave an exaggerated sigh. “Alright,” he said, fishing for his nail varnish. “Sit still. No smudging before it dries.”

“Yes, muuuuuum,” Junkrat whined. But he did and he barely complained. Barely for him only meant five times. When Roadhog was done, Junkrat beamed, blowing on his fingernails and waving his hand rapidly, until he was satisfied they were dry. “Thanks, Hoggo. You’re the best wingman ever.” He flung his arms around his friend.

Roadhog patted his hair affectionately and slipped a small hairclip into one of the stray tufts, trying to clip it down so it looked smoother. “Good,” he grunted. “He’ll be impressed.”

“Y’think?”

Roadhog nodded. “Yeah. He will. Go get him.”

Beaming broadly, he dashed out the door fast as he could.

“Hey, ‘rat!” Roadhog called after him. “Try standing up straight for once!”

“While going on a date with a _guy_ ? Whaddya talkin’ about, Hog? Why would I stand _straight_?”

He heard Roadhog groan with disappointment. Mission accomplished.

Time for the date.

That didn’t scare him one bit. Nope. Not at all. There absolutely wasn’t any fear wound tight in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t afraid at all.

Who was he trying to fool?

He was pissing himself. He was so fucking terrified.

Act natural, he told himself, then cursed his own shitty advice.

What did that even _mean_?

God, he was screwed.

 

-

  


He was always twitchy, but right now this had amped itself up by ten, if not more. Even his prosthetic fingers felt fidgety, and he couldn’t sit still, not that he ever could. He felt like he’d necked five of those energy drinks he was banned from ever touching. He jumped at every noise, flinched when that noise was footsteps, ready to split at any moment. Ready to blow the joint to smithereens and get out. True, he was on a date (and that in itself was mind-boggling) but he had two or three or ten bombs on his person. Couldn’t be too careful, right?

But he couldn’t. Lúce could show up at any minute. The last thing he wanted was for him to get caught up in the explosion. So he sat at the cafe table, ignoring the stares and flipping off one guy out the window. He could do this. He wondered if ordering a coffee would be a good idea. Probably not given the lengths Roadhog went to keep him away from it.

He watched the door like a hawk. He was so damn proud of his own door-watching skills. Didn’t even get distracted. Not much anyway.

He saw Lúcio before Lúcio saw him. The DJ was dressed casual, like he always did in his downtime, hair tied back, frog hoodie and jeans. Nothing special. Abruptly, Junkrat found himself feeling self-conscious of all the effort he’d gone to. Did he look too try-hard? He knew the shirt was too much. Considering the whole point of dates was to try to remove clothing, he wasn’t sure why a shirt was necessary at all but he hadn’t been able to argue while Roadhog practically shoved him in.

Lúcio was looking around, scanning the cafe for him in vain, staring through him without realising. Putting on his most confident front, Junkrat waved.

“Over here, mate.”

Lúcio blinked, stunned, then stifled a laugh as he took the seat opposite. “Oh my god, dude. Is that even you? I mean, look at you. I-”

Junkrat’s anger flared up. “I look like a right tosser, I know. Believe me, if Hog hadn’t practic’ly threatened to drown me, I’d’ve dodged that bath.”

The laugh Lúcio had been trying to stifle escaped. “No, it’s not- you look fine, Jamie, I promise. I just didn’t recognise you for a second. Is that a clip in your hair?”

“Yeah? And?” he replied, defensive.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s cute.” Lúcio smiled reassuringly. “You’ve really pulled out all the stops, haven’t you?”

“I tried me best. Hog helped.”

“He did a good job,” Lúcio said, looking at him appreciatively.

Junkrat couldn’t help adding. “‘course, most of it was me. I just asked for a smidge of advice.”

“A smidge?” Lúcio raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, fine, mayyybe slightly more. Believe it or not, the subtle arts of romance ain’t exactly me strong suit. Someone once said ‘Jamison, mate, yer about as subtle as being hit in the face with a hyperactive brick that won’t shut up’.” He grinned wickedly. “Dunno what they could’ve meant by that.”

Lúcio laughed and Junkrat was pleased. “Who would ever say that about you?”

“‘s bloody uncalled for, ‘s what it is.”

Lúcio nodded. “Everyone’s a critic, aren’t they?” He glanced at a menu. “You want anything?”

Junkrat didn’t miss a beat. “Chocolate cake looks out of this fuckin’ world.”

“I should have known,” Lúcio said, shaking his head and smiling. “You’ve got one hell of a sweet tooth.”

“Sure do. Never had much sugar growin’ up, y’know.”

“I feel you,” Lúcio replied. “We had sugar cane sometimes as kids but chocolate cake was always out of the question. Rich kids got that, while those around me went hungry. Not that I’m here to give you a political manifesto or something.”

“Nah, it’s right. I like hearing ya talk,” he said, then reddened slightly. “I mean, ya have a nice voice, don’t ya? Yer like, a voice pro. A fuckin’ maestro. Yeah, that’s right. Ten out of ten voice.”

“Thanks Jamie. That’s really sweet. I’m gonna go order, be right back.” He headed over to the counter, leaving Junkrat alone for a second with his thoughts. His doubts. He didn’t doubt himself, his own confidence, he was something else. He was dubious, however, of Lúcio. Not that he was up to anything shady, that wasn’t him, but his motivations weren’t clear. Not malicious but…

He came back with two slices of chocolate cake and a coffee, apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry. I’m under orders. You’re not allowed coffee, under any circumstances, so your buddy Mako says.”

“He don’t much like bein’ called that,” he corrected. “He’s been talkin’ ‘bout me then?”

“Just a bit. Gave some ground rules. Have you back for a certain time, that kind of thing.”

Junkrat groaned. “Who does he think he is, me dad? I’m in charge of me, nobody else.”

“He was just worried. Apparently you haven’t had the best taste in relationships in the past.”

He froze, chocolate cake falling literally right out of his mouth. “How much did he tell you?”

“Nothing.” Lúcio looked worried. “You okay, Jamie? Sorry if I brought anything up, bad memories or something. This is just what Mako - I mean, Roadhog - said.”

“Yeah,” Junkrat said, shaking the feeling off. “It doesn’t matter. I’m doing fab.”

“You sure?” He put a hand out across the table, touching Junkrat’s real hand gently.

Junkrat sighed. “I - uh, hey Lúce. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Lúcio said casually. “Fire away. Wait, bad wording. Don’t literally...you know what I mean. You can ask me anything.”

He took a deep breath. “Why’d you even agree to this? I mean…I’m fuckin’ wild, an’ I know I’m not half bad but...I’m also _me_. And there’s a whole lot of crap wrong with me, in my head, an’ only the teeniest bit actually right. I know I’m basically chaos personified. Always thought that was one of me best features but doesn’t gel with, y’know. Stuff. I ain’t makin’ sense, ignore me.”

“No, you’re making perfect sense. Dude-” Lúcio cut off. “I understand. I thought about all this before I invited you out. At the end of the day, I think you’re one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. Jamie - you make me smile so much. And when you’re excited about something, it’s infectious. I think you could probably blow this place up with random things casually lying around and let’s keep it real here, you’ve got an amazing accent. Like I legit couldn’t understand a word you were saying when we first met. I really like you as a person. You’re something else.”

“Ain’t I just,” Junkrat boasted. “That was a pretty cute speech, maestro.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t tease,” Lúcio chuckled. “Hey, listen. When we finish up here, I found something you might be interested in. It’s a surprise.”

“I thought we were goin’ to some music thing.” Lúcio only smirked. “Well, colour me intrigued. What mysteries have you got in store?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now would it?”

Junkrat made a show of exasperation but finished his cake and did his best puppy dog eyes to get a sip of the coffee. Only a sip, but it proved Lúcio was a pushover where it counted.

He wouldn’t tell him the secret though. Nope. None of that whatsoever. He had to wait.

He hated waiting.

But for Lúce, he’d have to try.

 

-

 

They made an odd picture walking down the street together, Junkrat mused, a short-arsed guy who tried to make up for his height with incredible hair, and was also a famous DJ, and a lanky set of arm, leg, fake arm and peg-leg rolled together into one bundle of bad posture and dubious habits turned notorious thief. He tried his best to straighten up, but it was hard with the peg and all. He’d got that leg before he’d grown into a beanpole and it wasn’t really the right length anymore. It was so much harder to balance when you were further from the ground. His attempt to resolve his posture didn’t last long before his back started to ache and he tripped on the pavement and he found himself slouching again.

“So what’s the surprise, then?” he asked, impatience giving in. “You said somethin’ about a music thing.”

 

Lúcio grinned. “That’d be telling, dude.”

“Aw, c’monnn!” Junkrat groaned. “I hate surprises, I hate waiting! It’s so booooring!”

“I know,” Lúcio said sympathetically. “It’s worth it, I promise.”

“But whennnn?” he whined.

“Soon, don’t worry. We’re almost there.”

“Where? Where are we _almost_?”

Lúcio laughed loudly. “You really don’t let up, do you? We’re almost at a good vantage point.”

“For _what_? You’re killin’ me, Lúce. Literally killin’ me.” He was bouncing up and down with the tension.

“Just a little longer, Jamie.” He squeezed his hand and Junkrat settled. Marginally.

“Had better be worth it, ‘s all I’m saying.”

Lúcio pointed at a bench. “Here.” From where they were seated, he could see a crowd fathered a short distance away. Something was presumably about to happen, but there were no clues what. It was starting to get dark.

Junkrat opened his mouth to complain again when the music started, followed by a loud bang and his eyes lit up. Fireworks. Choreographed to a music show or whatever but he didn’t give a shit about that. There were fireworks and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Look at that!” He pointed at the sky, jumping up and down on the bench. “Didya see? Didya see that? Fireworks, Lúce!”

“I know,” Lúcio replied, amused. “They’ve been advertising this for months.”

“You planned this? Mate, this is like - I’ve never been on a date before but even if I had, this would be the best. You’re the best, Lúce.” He flopped down onto his seat, leaning his head on Lúcio’s shoulder. “Is a second date an option now?”

“Sure,” Lúcio grinned. “Knew you’d love it.”

“Love it? Are ya kiddin’? I- this is _perfect_! Fuckin’ brilliant.” The song changed. Junkrat’s ears pricked up. “Hey, isn’t this your song?”

“Oh yeah, it is.” Lúcio looked delighted. “You noticed.”

“‘course,” Junkrat couldn’t help sounding offended. “Yer music’s the bomb.” He laughed. “Geddit? ‘cause explosives are like me number one fave thing.”

“That’s uh...that’s really sweet of you to say. Dammit, dude. Why are you so adorable?”

“Good genes,” Junkrat bragged. “Lúce?”

“Yeah?”

He swallowed nervously. He’d been doing so well so far. What if he fucked up now? “You wanna kiss?”

Lúcio beamed. “Sure, dude.”

So they did, kind of awkwardly, but it could have been worse and it did definitely improve.

“Not to burst your bubble, Jamie,” Lúcio said softly, a laugh in his throat. “But your shirt’s back to front.”

“It is? Well, it can get fucked.” He pulled it off and threw it on the floor dramatically.

Lúcio laughed, and it was pretty much beautiful.

Junkrat knew the shirt had been a bad idea to begin with. But things had worked out anyway. Until he decided to set off his grenades to show off with the fireworks and they had to run back, make a swift getaway as ever. Still, that was pretty romantic, right?

Roadhog disagreed and said Junkrat was just a mess. Junkrat said he could sod off.

Roadhog said he was happy for him.

And Junkrat said he was happy too.

And that he’d definitely filled the bath quota for the year.

**Author's Note:**

> the implication about Junkrat not having had the best relationships in the past is that he's been in some abusive situations due to necessity and circumstance and it's not been a fun time.  
> I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much. Please bitch at me abt anything and everything.


End file.
